


Thicker Than Water

by SixesandSevens



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Hurt Daryl, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixesandSevens/pseuds/SixesandSevens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl's finding his place within the group. Will it be the death of him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first fanfic I ever wrote, way back in 2011. It's set after the CDC and before the group finds the farm. Hope you enjoy! :)

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about this new 'safe haven'. Since they'd escaped from the CDC by the skin of their teeth, the dwindling group had been traveling with an increasingly desperate and hopeless air clinging to them. It took them nearly a week of scavenging for gas and food, heart stopping encounters with walkers and a dismal lack of at least somewhat safe places to stop and rest in to find their current camp... but still. It was a camp. Outside. Again. He may have had a solid grasp on how to survive in the great outdoors and now that it was the not-so-great outdoors he still had a better grasp on it than all of the others, but it still seemed that this was no longer a good idea. They should find an actual shelter; a building that they could reinforce and fortify, somewhere that they had a chance and if they were to be attacked again there'd at least be a higher chance to escape. They'd be less likely to be trapped on all sides. No, staying outside was not a good idea, not at all. It's one thing when he went out hunting, but this was not the answer for the whole group.

Daryl shook his head to clear his mind of these dreary thoughts. At least it's a break from traveling, they had an opportunity now to rest (to some degree anyway), regroup and perhaps come up with a better course of action; besides this was the safest place they'd come across in days, they may as well use it. He looked around the camp at everyone milling about, setting up and settling in and decided he should probably head out and go hunting. None of them had eaten a decent meal since leaving the CDC, he was the main provider of protein in this group, they all needed it right about now.

At first, when he and Merle'd joined up with these survivors he didn't care much for any of them. He found them weak and there were too many races in the mix anyhow; in some ways, he'd rather not have joined them at all. But there's safety in numbers and it was better to be in a group of living strangers than two against a legion of dead. Thus, the Dixon brothers had opted to stay. Although, he'd seriously considered leaving when they'd left Merle for dead up on that roof, but again, the usefulness of numbers won out. Not that Daryl couldn't take care of himself, it would simply have been a foolish course of action to take, so he'd stayed; and to his surprise, these people had begun to grow on him. He'd even begun to care about them, and if he was right, the feelings were even reciprocated. Now that he was no longer in his brother's shadow the others could see that, while he could still be rather volatile, he was nowhere near on the level that Merle had been. Merle had practically raised him and Daryl loved him for it, even if he'd beat the ever loving shit out of him on occasion; but he also knew his brother, and he had no doubt that, in truth, it was Merle's own damn fault for getting himself handcuffed in the first place. Merle was his family but he could be a fucking pig's ass sometimes. These people, they were a new family to him, and a hell of a lot nicer to boot!

Daryl stood up from the log he'd been sitting on as he contemplated things, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder and heading over to Rick who was talking with Shane, Lori and Dale. He briefly considered where to begin and decided just to dive right in; no doubt they wouldn't be too pleased with the idea of moving on so soon but it needed to be discussed.

"Hey, I don't think that we should stay here for too long. I mean look what happened last time we set up an outdoor campsite. This is all well and good. It's the safest place we've come 'cross and we need to get our bearings straight, but this ain't the answer. We need to find a building and lock it down." Daryl spoke in a matter of fact tone.

Daryl was surprised when Rick turned to him with a smile and Shane glared at him.

"Well that settles it!" Rick sounded a bit excited, clapping Daryl on the shoulder he continued, "That happens to be exactly what we were just discussing. Now Shane here was a little leary about heading out so soon but Dale, Lori and I agree, we need to find something safer and more permanent."

"It ain't that I'm  _leary_  Rick," Shane replied, his voice clipped and agitated, "it's just that we haven't had a chance to stop since the CDC, these people are spent. They need a chance to rest, we can't keep pushing them like this. I just don't think it's a good idea to be setting off on these plans right now."

"That so?" The drawl in Daryl's voice was just a bit thicker being perturbed. "You're right. They're spent. But that's part of surviving and none of us are gonna make it if we keep up this way; we don't have time for this shit Shane and you know it, we gotta take action now. We'll get things settled when it's actually to our benefit. I'm not saying we drag them all off this minute to go searching, but I do think that we should send out scouting parties to search for something promising, and that does need to start soon. Now ya'll can figure it out, I'm going hunting; we could all use a decent meal. 'Specially the little ones."

He could feel Shane's stare burning a hole in the back of his head as he stormed into the woods, but didn't give the tiniest little fuck. Yeah, this group was growing on him but not all of them, mainly Shane. That man had a bug up his ass and it was making him dangerous; Daryl knew the others thought he was volatile, but it seemed that the former officer was becoming more and more unstable. Sure the world ended, it sucked. Still, to survive they had to adapt, humans were supposedly great at that... one wouldn't know it from observing Shane.

Rick watched Daryl head off towards the woods. When he'd first met him, he'd thought the redneck would be a problem for the group, but as it turned out Daryl was not only a great asset he considered the man to be a friend, maybe not real close just yet, but working on it. It was evident that even with Daryl beginning to integrate with the group there was still no love lost between him and Shane. Rick eyed the later as he continued to glare daggers at the tree line in which Daryl'd disappeared to. "Well, I think we should go ahead and scout around now, how bout you guys?"

Shane shifted his heated gaze to the former sheriff now, "You've got be kidding! We've only just gotten here, camp's barely set up at all."

"Daryl's right, we don't have time to waste, besides it's still early in the day; maybe we'll get lucky. If we don't today, then there'll be less ground to cover tomorrow." Rick maintained his rational demeanor, trying to calm his friend.

"Yeah, well who do you suggest we send off on this goose chase? Daryl's already gone off into the woods, who knows when he'll make it back; we can't send too few, it'd be too dangerous but we can't leave the camp unprotected either." Shane was getting more worked up the longer this conversation went on.

"Come on now Shane, I never said anything about leaving the camp unprotected, you know I wouldn't do that. What if T-Dog and Dale stayed with the camp and you and I and Glenn went scouting?"

Looking from one to the other, Dale interjected, "That sounds like a pretty decent plan if you ask me." Lori nodded in agreement.

Shane visibly bristled then reigned it in, he was outnumbered and knew it; T-Dog and Glenn would side with Rick and Dale, he was the odd man out. "Fine," he caved before heading off to his jeep to gather what he needed. Rick, Dale and Lori exchanged a look before searching out Glenn and T-Dog to inform them of the plan.

* * *

 

Daryl hadn't been hunting long and so far he hadn't come across any game, but he did find some deer tracks that he was following, excited at the prospect of some venison.  _"Damn, it's been too long since I've caught anything but squirrel and rabbit, deer'd be fucking awesome!"_  he thought to himself. Suddenly he heard a twig snap and was instantly alert. Tensed and with crossbow at the ready, he spun in the direction of the sound, only to have his mouth drop open and his heart come leaping from his chest. He gasped audibly in utter shock,  _"Merle?"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, that's just where it ended when I wrote it. Due to the brevity I'll post two chapters today. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Daryl lowered the crossbow but continued to stare, speechless. One half of him was overjoyed; his brother was alive! The other half couldn't believe it; there was no way this was real, he must be dehydrated and hallucinating.

"Well if it isn't little brother," Merle laughed, "you look like you done seen a ghost."

"I thought you were dead," Daryl said quietly, still rooted to the spot, still not quite believing his eyes. Was he dreaming? That laugh certainly sounded like Merle and he was missing his right hand. But these were things that his own mind could easily concoct. Merle began to approach him and he actually found himself taking a few steps back.

"What the hell! You scared of your own brother Daryl?" Merle snapped at him, "You damn fool, prolly really do think I'm a ghost, fucking pussy! Always was a pussy! I oughta whip the shit out of you for being so damn stupid; you know I could do it too, one handed or not you fucking jackass!"

Seemingly out of nowhere, Daryl started cracking up. "You always was one to get worked into a rage Merle!" he sent his brother a grin before closing the distance between them and giving the other man a hug, "I can't believe you're alive you crazy son of a bitch!"

For a moment Merle returned the hug before shoving his brother off, "Alright, alright that's enough." Daryl looked his brother in the eye, "You know we went back for you, but it was too late, you were already gone."

"Of course I was fucking gone! Those dick bumps left me to boil in the fucking sun and dangling from a goddamn pipe as walker food! How the hell was I supposed to know ya'll would come back anyway?" Daryl couldn't quite place the glint in his brother's eyes, it was almost maniacal, but not quite; all the same it set him on edge.

"You think I would've just left you there? You know better than that Merle! As soon as I found out I was setting out to go get you, I can't believe you'd think any less of me," he scowled at his brother, "I'm sorry that shit happened to you but it's not like you gave them much choice did you? Things ain't the way they used to be, we can't afford not to work together anymore; the world's gone to shit, you've gotta learn to get along with people Merle."

He expected Merle to go off on him for that statement, to bash his face in or something; the last thing he expected was for Merle to sling his right arm over his shoulders and give him a bit of a squeeze, "You know, I guess you're probably right Daryl," when all he got in response was a dubious look he continued, "Really, I mean it. I've had a lot of time to think since then and I did bring it on myself back in Atlanta; I was acting a fool and we were already in deep enough shit, didn't need me making matters worse."

Handless arm still draped over his shoulders, Daryl was still a bit skeptical. This wasn't like Merle at all, could he really have had a change of heart? "Really Merle? You're gonna let it go? Try to get along with the others?"

The next thing he knew his brother's arm was squeezing painfully on his windpipe, effectively cutting his air supply in half, then there was the unmistakable feel of a gun barrel pressed harshly against his left temple, "No, I ain't gonna let it go!" Merle's voice hissed in his ear, "Now drop the fucking crossbow!"


	3. Chapter 3

"I said drop the fucking crossbow!" the gun bit harder into his flesh, demanding obedience.

Daryl slowly held the bow out to his side then dropped it to the ground with a muffled thud as the piece of equipment hit the muddied ground. He couldn't believe this was happening. This could NOT be happening. His brother was back from the proverbial dead and now was going to kill him; and if he didn't, then he was certainly going to wreak havoc on their little camp. Goddamnit, why did he let his guard down? How could he be so fucking stupid!

"Now the knife, drop it! No, keep it in the sheath, Daryl, no funny business." Merle ordered when he'd tried to pull the steel.  _"Damn! He knows me too well for this!"_  Daryl cursed to himself as he dropped the knife still snug in its case,  _"How the hell am I gonna get outta this one?"_  He was getting more nervous as the situation was spiraling further from his control. The pressure on his windpipe was getting more intense, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breath; already black spots where beginning to dance across his field of vision. Fuck! He was quickly losing to his fucking  _one handed_  brother. Unbelievable!

"Alright, now get moving!" Merle began pushing him in the direction of camp. At first, Daryl resisted. He clutched at his brother's arm trying to relieve the pressure on his neck and pulling away from where he was being led. Allowing Merle to take him back to camp wasn't an acceptable plan. There was no telling what his psychopathic brother would do to the others, well he actually had some ideas and didn't like any of them, best to keep it from happening. But it would seem he didn't have much choice. When he'd tried to tug in the opposite direction Merle'd only squeezed tighter on his neck and removed the gun from his temple long enough to knock him soundly on the head with the butt of the weapon; this caused stars to explode across his vision and he could feel the sticky warmth of blood running down the side of his face.

By the time Daryl'd regained a measure of his bearings he found that they were already near the edge of the woods. Oh, just perfect. Well with any luck, one of the other men would be able to get the upper hand, preventing total catastrophe from befalling their group. Of course, that meant he was shit out of luck. This was his luck and Merle at the wrong end of a gun they were dealing with, so what reason did he have to believe it'd go in his favor?

* * *

 

The camp was just finishing setting up when there was rustling heard coming from the trees. Collectively they tensed and scanned the tree line looking for the source of the disturbance. The sight they were met with shocked them all.

"Oh my god," muttered Dale. He could hardly believe it, but there it was. Daryl being shoved from the woods, looking more terrified than anyone in camp had ever seen the man look; as a matter of fact, Dale couldn't recall ever seeing him look scared. Following Daryl was Merle Dixon, one hand and all; and that hand was wielding what looked like a small caliber pistol, probably a .32, pressed against his own brother's head.

"Well, what a lovely reunion! How's about you all just line up here in front of me, unless of course you want  _dear baby brother_  to get an extra hole in the head?" Merle mocked. The seven present hurried to comply; Lori and Carol shielding the kids. "Good, now you're gonna get rid of the weapons. Put 'em in a pile over there. One at a time." He gestured with a nod to an open area to the left.

Dale, then T-dog both reluctantly walked to the space indicated and relieved themselves of their rifle and shotgun, respectively.

"You too, sugar tits." Merle directed at Andrea. She gave him an innocently shocked look in return. "Don't play stupid with me, bitch." he snarled at her, "I know you got a gun on you. You had it in Atlanta and you still have it now."

Andrea cast a molten glare at the elder Dixon and stalked over to remove her gun as well. She returned to her side of the altercation, "Ok, we don't have our weapons and neither does Daryl, why don't you just let him go? He can join us over here." She gestured to where they were all standing.

Merle just laughed harshly at her, "Oh sure, that's exactly what I'll do. Let him go so he can find some 'Daryl' way to get the upper hand. I think not lady. Now, where's the rest of your group? I'm especially interested in 'talking' with Officer Friendly." That comment seemed to go above everyone's head, except for Andrea and T-dog, who shifted uncomfortably.

"There's no Officer Friendly in our group, Merle. You must be mistaken." Lori tried to reason.

"Oh there is, you know him intimately I'd say. See, I'm talking about your shithead husband," Merle grinned at her shocked expression. "Oh yeah, I know all about you and Rick Grimes. See I've been watching ya'll, just waiting for an opportune moment. And as I observe, what do I come to find out? My asshole little brother's gone and  _betrayed_  me, siding with you dumb bastards!" He shook Daryl violently as he spoke, eliciting a strangled gasp. "So tell me, where's the two pigs and the fucking slope-head?"

Knowing his attempt at resolution was most likely futile, Dale offered, "They're not here, not sure when they'll be back. Now, I know what happened to you is a terrible thing, but surely we can come to some understanding other than resorting to violence."

"Keep your crusty mouth shut, old man!" Merle snapped.

"Merle, you don't have to do this," Daryl wheezed, "We can leave the group, you and me. We'll make it on our own, we don't need them."

"You better shut up! Before you cut your time short, Daryl." The warning evident in Merle's tone.

"I won't! Look, do what you want to me, just leave them out of it. It's my fault right? I didn't get back to you in time, then I stuck with the camp. You're pissed at me, so do what you gotta, but we'll handle it, brother to brother." He was getting desperate now. He knew Merle wouldn't listen to anything anyone had to say, and if his brother had his way the whole camp would be dead by the end of this fiasco.

Andrea regarded the Dixon brothers nervously. She knew Daryl was just trying to get them out of this abysmal situation, but what he was attempting was a death sentence; not that he wasn't in danger of that now, she grimly thought. She was getting worried about him though; he was getting a slightly blue tinge to his lips, and his knees didn't appear to be supporting him that well either, seeing as he was beginning to sag in his brother's grip. No way would he be able to hold his own against Merle at this rate.

Angrily, Merle slammed the butt of his weapon against Daryl's head again. "I thought I told you to shut up,  _brother!_  You're worse than the rest of them, you little shit!" he began squeezing even tighter with his arm, "I planned to keep you alive 'till last, don't make me change my mind. I've seen you with them, I can tell you care now. Isn't that just so damn sweet? You always was the soft one, Daryl. Ain't worthy of being called Dixon."

Daryl's head was spinning, between the blows to the head and the lack of oxygen, he thought he might just pass out; but that's about the last thing he wanted to do right now. How was he supposed to find a way out of this if he let the encroaching darkness win? And, much to his chagrin, it did seem to be winning. He couldn't even understand half of his brother's ranting right now. Through the haze he thought he heard Andrea pleading with Merle to stop, "Merle, you're choking him!" her voice rang out dimly.

_"Hmmm, is he?"_  Daryl took stock of his body and found that it was feeling pretty weightless. The pounding in his head seemed more dull than before; the bruising pressure of the gun now felt as though it was just brushing his skin. It occurred to him that he could no longer see anything at all. Maybe his eyes were closed. If that was the case, they certainly wouldn't open right now. Maybe he'd already passed out. No, that couldn't be it. He could still vaguely make out voices arguing, but all meaning to the sounds was out of his reach.  _"Shit, should've never let my fucking guard down,"_  was the last thought that passed through his mind before consciousness fully left him.

* * *

 

Awareness was returning, gradually and painfully. The first thing he took notice of was a strange noise in the background. It was entirely nonsensical; reminiscent of going underwater during a swim and trying to decode the words your buddy was saying while, he too, was underwater. His head was pounding so hard he thought he might vomit, and his arm, back and neck muscles were screaming in pain. How long had he been in this position? He was dangling from a tree branch, his toes just skimming the ground; his wrists tied with rope so rough that he could feel blood running down his arms from where his wrists had been rubbed raw.

He tried opening his eyes, the first few tries it was as though they were glued shut, until finally he managed to crack them, only to slam them shut against the brightness that assaulted him. After a few moments, he tried again, more slowly. The light increased his headache but he ignored it.

Daryl, looked around only to have his stomach turn at the sight presented to him.  _"Oh god, how long have I been out?"_  he wondered. Suddenly the sounds that woke him made sense. They were screams and crying, pleading and shouting.

The camp was in an uproar. Rick, Shane and Glenn had made it back. Everyone was huddled together, freaking out in various ways, and being forced to simply watch the grisly scene before them. Merle had a sobbing Carl at gunpoint, and was standing over Rick. Even from the distance Daryl was at he could see the sweat pouring off the other man; the agony etched on his face as tears of sorrow and pain rolled down his face. Rick was kneeling in the dirt, hacking off his own hand with a saw.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of metal against bone was nauseating. Daryl fought against the urge to empty the contents of his stomach and instead focused on a way to get himself and the others out of this mess. He eyed the small collection of weapons that the others had created at Merle's behest and noted the contents of it: Dale's rifle, T-dog's shotgun, Andrea's pistol, Rick's revolver, Shane's Glock and pocket knife and Glenn's bat. The other weapons they had must be scattered about, inside the vehicles and such. This pile would just be what the others had on them when confronted with Merle. If he could just get to those weapons...

He tested the rope he was tied with. There was next to no slack when he tugged on it and the branch was sturdy; no chance of breaking that. He tried reaching the knots on his wrists, maybe he could loosen them enough to wriggle his hands free. There was no way that Merle could have been the one to string him up, not with one hand. Daryl could only hope whoever was forced to tie him had tried to make the knots loose enough that he'd be able to escape.

Twisting and pulling, he seemed to be making a bit of progress; although, he could feel the flesh around his wrists tearing even more with each move he made, but that was hardly of consequence right now. Right now, he had to save the camp before Merle killed them all.

He looked back over at the group; Rick had nearly sawed through the bone at this point and was looking positively green, along with Glenn and T-dog. Carl and Lori were both sobbing uncontrollably, and Sophia had her face buried in mother's shoulder. Dale had that wide-eyed look of concern on his face, while Andrea watched with hatred and despair etched into her features. Shane looked torn between ready to kill and a desperate hopelessness born of knowing there's nothing that can be done.

Just as Rick choked on a scream and finished cutting off his hand, Daryl managed to free one of his own. He discreetly began working on his other hand as quickly as possible, keeping a close eye on the group in front of him. They were a good 15 feet away next to the fire pit, with the group facing him and Merle's back to him. Seems that Merle didn't feel he was a threat being all tied up; that was just the break he needed. As Merle began ordering Glenn and T-dog to build a fire, Daryl just hoped he'd stay busy enough to refrain from turning around.

* * *

The pain in Rick's arm was more intense than he could have imagined that it'd be; he sat there cradling his bloodied stump with Lori hugging him from behind. As soon as he'd cut his hand away and Merle began ordering Glenn and T-dog around, she was attached to him, doing her best to offer comfort in a comfortless situation.

"Ok, that frying pan right there?" Merle gestured to a handful of cooking utensils sitting next to the fire pit, "That'll do just fine. Chink, heat that thing up."

"Why?" Glenn asked nervously, "What are you gonna do with it?"

Instead of an answer, he received a question, "Did I say to ask me about my intentions? Do what I tell you, Yellow, before someone gets hurt!" he shook Carl a bit, causing the boy to cry harder and shouts of "NO!" all around. Without another word, Glenn practically threw the pan into the fire.

"That's better." Merle growled, "Now, we're just going to let that heat up real nice for a couple minutes. Then you," he pointed to Rick's pale form, "will get to finish the experience."

Rick cringed at these words. He'd known this was coming when the fire had been ordered, and really, he did need to cauterize the wound; but that didn't mean he was looking forward to it. He couldn't help but wonder how it had come to this. He, Shane and Glenn had come back to camp excited, they'd already found a potential building to set up shop at, only to walk into a nightmare.

There was a part of him that was in no way surprised that Merle had survived; but to find him holding camp hostage with his own brother unconscious and hanging by his wrists from a tree? No, he'd never expected that. But despite any and all of his expectations, here they were, in just that situation; and now he was missing his right hand and waiting to burn the wound closed.

"Time's up, Friendly," came the sneer from Merle, "Git over here and take care of yourself now."

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Lori and moved over to the edge of the fire pit. With a shaking hand, he pulled the frying pan out; thankfully only slightly burning himself on the handle. In Glenn's haste to follow directions, he'd still managed to keep the handle mostly clear of the flames. Sweat was already coursing down Rick's forehead; he felt weak and sick, and putting a burning piece of metal to his freshly shorn stump was not going to help matters there.

Merle was getting impatient with watching his victim contemplate his dilemma. "We're waiting." To emphasize his point, he pressed the gun harder into Carl's cheek.

"Ok! Ok!" Rick pleded for his son's life, "I'm doing it." Instead of gingerly bringing the heated surface to his flesh he did it quick, figuring it best to just get it over with. As soon as the metal touched his frayed skin, he knew it wouldn't have mattered how he went about the process. This was excruciating. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, attempting to keep the scream locked in his throat at bay; he was trying so hard to be strong for Lori and Carl, especially Carl. But it was no use. The agonized yell escaped from him, and it felt like it would never stop.

* * *

 

Daryl halted in crouching down to pick up a weapon from the pile upon hearing the scream that Rick let out. Was this what it had been like for Merle when he'd had to do this? He hoped not, but knew he was just kidding himself with such hopes. Despite everything Merle was putting them through he still loved his brother; even as he was coming to terms with the fact that, one or the other would very likely be dead by the other's hand at the end of the day. There was no saving Merle, not after this. This thought cut him to his core; but he knew it was up to him do something, and he intended to.

Not wasting any more time he grabbed the weapon he had mentally selected while breaking loose from his bonds. Shane's pocket knife. God knows they'd been making enough racket, there was no need to draw any more walkers than they already were by firing a gun. Besides, this knife would do the trick; it was a good four inches long, and judging by how many times he'd seen Shane shaving with it, knew it had to be razor sharp. Slowly and quietly, he began creeping up behind Merle.

So far, no one had noticed him. They were all too preoccupied with Rick's hand, or rather, lack thereof. With bated breath, he snuck up behind his brother, using all his hunter's prowess to remain undetected. Just a few more steps and he'd be within range. His heart was pounding with adrenalin; he was certain Merle would hear it, no matter how irrational that was. As soon as he'd closed the distance he trapped Merle in a headlock, the knife at his throat.

"You best let the boy go." He demanded calmly in his brother's ear.

However, Merle didn't seem fazed by this sudden turn of events. "Oh, I see you decided to join the party, huh,  _little brother?"_  With that said, and faster than anyone could have anticipated, he tossed Carl to the side and threw Daryl over his shoulders, somehow managing to keep a hold of his pistol while doing so.

Daryl landed hard on his back only narrowly avoiding the flames. The others were shouting again, trying to stay out of the way of the two brawling men, and looking for opportunities to help, where none seemed to come. With no time to recover from the harsh landing he rolled quickly to the side, just before his face would have become better acquainted with his brother's elbow. There was a loud crack as the joint met the unforgiving ground instead; Merle cursed and rolled to the side a bit exposing his chest to Daryl. Now was his chance, and Daryl took it. Aiming for Merle's heart, he let loose with the knife, thrusting the weapon with as much force as he could.

He felt the knife connect with Merle's flesh simultaneous with the gunshot that rang out. In that instant, all he could focus on were the bright red drops that began decorating the ground beneath him and Merle; and for that one, sickening moment after the shot was fired the entire camp went still.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone for reading, reviewing and leaving kudos! :)
> 
> As you'll see, according to this chapter there's certain facts that don't match canon, but I wrote this long before they were revealed so we'll pretend they're accurate. I always kinda liked this chapter even though it is pretty grim, I hope you all like it as well! 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

The sun was shining brightly, occasionally accompanied by a scorching breeze. However, it was a welcome respite from the stuffy, stillness in the air that would settle over one without it. The hot wind blew through Daryl's sweaty hair, cooling the boy marginally.

Even at the tender age of seven Daryl was a loner, he didn't really get along with the other kids so he usually just hung out by himself. It was a blazing August afternoon, and he was out at the creek looking to catch some crawfish. Despite the heat, he'd rather spend his day at the creek alone and forgo his lunch than stay at home. Dad would probably stumble in soon from a bender the night before, and Daryl had no wish to be anywhere in the vicinity when that happened. He couldn't hide out in his bedroom; he had to share with Merle who'd taken the room over last night to get high on crank and fuck some random whore he'd picked up. So Daryl'd spent the night on the couch trying to catch a couple hours' sleep and ignore the sounds coming from down the hall. After awhile he'd resorted to turning the T.V. on to create a sound barrier, of course nothing was on, and he fell asleep to some cheesy infomercial trying to get balding men to buy their new 'miracle product' .

"Whooo!" Merle's voice shattering the quiet startled Daryl out of sleep causing him to fall off the couch to the floor. He looked around frantically for a moment trying to determine what had woken him so jarringly. After a few moments, he realized it'd been Merle reveling in getting high, or maybe getting laid, again. Grumbling, Daryl looked out the window to see that the sun was barely up yet. Not wanting to face his loaded brother or the slut of the day he'd spent the night with, Daryl heated up a hot pocket and grabbed a can of coke from the fridge before setting out for the afternoon. He'd wandered aimlessly for awhile before deciding to hang out at the creek.

He spent hours at that creek catching and releasing all kinds of critters: crawfish, toads, rolly-polies; he even tried to catch a couple fish with his bare hands, he got pretty close a few times but never actually managed to catch one. It was starting to get dark and grudgingly he decided he better be getting back. With any luck, Dad would already be out again, or maybe he never even came home today; and hopefully Merle'd ditched the skank by now. Maybe he could sleep in his own bed tonight. At any rate, he could seriously go for a peanut butter and jelly and some cheetos.

Daryl sighed, disheartened, when he got home and found that Merle was still locked up in their room, probably with that same bitch. If that was the case, they'd probably be in there for another day or so, damn. At least Dad wasn't home. He went to the kitchen and made his sandwich; rather than have his chips on the side he put them directly on the jelly. Merle always made fun of him for that but he didn't care, it tasted good; besides over the course of his short years he'd devised ways to make his meals as complete and quick as possible in case he didn't get a chance to finish. He found the watermelon Kool-aid was still in the fridge; he poured himself a glass and settled down on the floor to watch Wile E. Coyote in futile attempts at catching the Roadrunner while he enjoyed his meal.

He'd only eaten about half of his sandwich when the front door swung open and Dad came stumbling through. Shit, he must have been out all day as well as all night, meaning he'd be as lit as the night sky on the Fourth of July. Daryl stayed as still and quiet as he could, taking small bites of his sandwich, hoping that the crunch of the cheetos wouldn't disturb his father. Dad had never really liked Daryl; his mother had died giving birth to him and Dad made it very clear that tragedy was all his fault.

His father stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing himself a beer before making his way to the living room and taking the remote from the floor beside Daryl, not before cuffing the boy on the head first, of course. "Stupid ass cartoons," his father muttered as he flipped through the channels and settled on some old Cops re-runs.

Daryl really wished Merle'd let him back in their room; he had nowhere to go now. He couldn't sit on the living room floor with an empty plate or he'd get yelled at, and if he left the room to put it in the kitchen it would be taboo to re-enter the living room; that left him the kitchen. Last time he'd fallen asleep at the table had resulted in an ass whooping he had no desire to repeat, so what was he to do? Suppressing a sigh he got up to take his plate and cup to the sink, he started washing the dishes by hand since the dishwasher didn't work; hopefully Dad would pass out soon, then he could at least lie down on the floor near the T.V.

He'd finished the few dishes in the sink when his father stormed into the room. "Did you take my smokes again, boy?" the words came out slurred and menacing.

"No," images flashed through Daryl's mind of the singular time he was foolish enough to sneak just one of his dad's cigarettes and it was not a fond memory. He'd ended up with a black eye and a broken arm over that stunt; and while he'd enjoyed the nicotine novelty it simply wasn't worth the repercussions, he'd never do that again.

But his dad was worked up tonight and didn't much care what the truth was, "I know you took 'em, you ungrateful little shit!" he spat, approaching his son with violence in his eyes.

"Dad, I swear! I didn't take 'em!" Daryl was cowering away from the frightening man, looking around, panicked for an escape or something to defend himself with. As his father continued to approach him, he knew he had to act fast and darted around a chair and under the table, hoping to put enough distance between himself and his dad that he could make it to the door. He'd just spend the night in the woods; it was preferable to this.

No such luck. He'd nearly made it when something hard hit him square in the back before falling to the floor and shattering around him. He let out a yelp and lost his footing, slamming head first into the door, then crumpling in a heap at its base. It'd been a coffee mug his father'd hurled at him, and he was now towering over the small child. "You done fucked up now, you little bastard." Daryl could smell the booze on his father's breath as he leaned over him and yanked him up by the arm. With a swift motion of his father's arm, he was sent flying into a wall knocking the wind out of his lungs.

He lay there, desperately trying to catch his breath, as his father began violently kicking every inch of his small body while screaming obscenities and insults at him. Tears mixed with blood were streaming down his dirty face, there was nothing he could do but cry and take the beating. He was beginning to think Dad might actually kill him this time and even beginning to welcome that thought, at least in death there'd be no more pain, no more suffering; but then faintly he heard an angered cry. Merle.

At some point, Merle'd heard the commotion coming from the front room through his drug induced stupor and finally emerged to find his father beating his kid brother senseless. He flew into a rage at the sight. He may beat on the poor kid himself sometimes, but never like this; this was unacceptable. At 17 he was already full grown and just as big as the old man, with youth and crank on his side he ripped the mother fucker off his brother and began wailing on him like there was no tomorrow.

Once he had dear old dad on the ground he'd kicked him in the face so hard the old man was literally spitting teeth, then Merle shoved him out the front door informing him, in no uncertain terms, that if he ever set foot in that house again he'd kill his sorry ass.

"Daryl, hey you alright?" Merle had a cool, damp cloth in his hand and was cleaning away some of the blood on the boy's small face. Daryl opened his eyes to find himself in his own bed and the bitch who'd been keeping his brother company earlier was nowhere in sight. Just him and Merle. He looked up at his brother, his hero, and knew that he was finally safe. "Yea," he whispered, "I'm ok."

* * *

 

Pain was his world, it was as if it was emanating from within him. He groaned trying to will the discomfort to abate. Vaguely, he could make out words floating from disembodied voices above him. Things about blood loss and can he be moved right now? How long could they risk staying here anyway? Daryl wasn't quite sure what the voices were going on about; however, they sounded familiar, but he couldn't place names or faces to them.

"I think he's coming around. Daryl! Daryl! Can you hear me?" he became aware of a pressure on his neck and the pain he felt before seemed to be originating there. The voices sounded concerned, terrified even. He felt he should reassure this person that he could hear... her? Yes, this last voice was decidedly feminine. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words he attempted sounded incoherent even to himself. The fuck was that? Why couldn't he talk, or open his eyes for that matter? What the hell was going on?

He felt himself being lifted by two sets of arms, causing agony to shoot throughout his body. It was nearly overwhelming, and unbidden a low moan escaped his throat.

"Shh, its ok, Daryl," came that woman's voice again. "You're gonna be alright. Don't you worry."

But that  _did_  make him worry, because there was something in her voice that wasn't entirely convincing. And honestly, that scared the shit out of him.


	6. Chapter 6

_BANG!_

It was as though the camp was frozen in time, as though when the gunshot rang out an unseen hand picked up the remote to their lives and pressed the pause button; the brothers lay before them in a macabre tableau of blood and shocked, pained expressions and they were powerless to do anything about it. Powerless to think, move, breathe; to do nothing but stare. But then, Daryl's eyes rolled back in his head as he fell to the side breaking the spell, and everyone rushed toward him. His fingers limply slipped from the knife buried to the hilt in his brother's chest, where it remained, like a morbid ornament for the newly dead man. Daryl lay there unmoving, his skin already too pale, in stark contrast with the bright red of the blood spilling from the wound on the right side of his neck. The bullet had just grazed him, but it left a rather deep, weeping groove.

"Oh my god," Glenn breathed, "Is he dead?" Andrea was kneeling at the injured mans' side doing all she could to keep the blood inside his body while Shane checked on his vitals.

"He's alive," Shane confirmed to the others, "Although, and I ain't no doctor, his pulse doesn't feel right. Weak, kinda slow."

Dale materialized then, offering a clean hand towel from the RV to Andrea, she took it wordlessly, quickly pressing the material to Daryl's neck. "We need to do something, he won't last long bleeding like that." He moved over to Lori as he spoke, handing her a clean towel as well, to bandage Rick's wound with.

Seeing as Rick was out of commission Shane took charge; he may not like Daryl much, but he wasn't going to just let the man bleed to death on his watch. "Ok, we need to get him in the RV and get that wound cleaned up, then somebody's gonna have to stitch it closed. Now, I don't know who should do that. Maybe one of you ladies knows how to sew?"

"I can." Carol moved forward, her arm around Sophia's shoulders. "Even got needle and thread, been using it to mend the clothing. Sophia, go fetch my sewing things." The girl nodded clutching her doll and scurried off. Carol knelt next to Andrea and placed her hand on the now bloodied towel, "Could you please keep an eye on Sophia while I tend to him?" She asked politely.

"Sure," relinquishing her post, Andrea turned to Shane as she stood. "Can he even be moved right now? Aren't you supposed to stabilize somebody before moving them?"

"Well, yeah." Shane agreed. "My first aid training with the force was limited and while you are right, I don't see that we have much choice right now. This area isn't secure anymore. We've been making too much noise with all this; add to that the gun going off and three people's blood in the air... I think we better head out."

"Where the hell are we gonna go?" Lori burst out, pausing in wrapping Rick's stump. "We can't just go scavenging about like we've been! Rick's injured and Daryl's at death's doorstep in case you haven't noticed, I say we take care of them first!"

"We aren't gonna move out this second, Lori." Shane was getting irritated, ever since Rick came back into the fold his authority was questioned by everyone, but by Lori most of all. He knew what they were up against here; if she'd just shut up and let him take care of it, it'd be handled! "What we're gonna do is start packing up, we need to be ready to move at a moments notice. We never got a chance to tell ya'll but we found a place to hole up at, so we have somewhere to go. You," He nodded toward Lori, "clean Rick up and we'll do what we can for Daryl."

"He's already lost so much blood," Andrea murmured, her gaze shifted from the younger to older brother. "What do we do with Merle? Just leave him here? Bury him?"

Before anyone could answer they were interrupted by Carol. She'd been watching Daryl intently for any indication he was waking up, wishing the other's would just shut up and tend to the man before he slipped away, they could figure this other stuff out later. She lifted the corner of the towel Dale had supplied and was relieved to see that, while he was still bleeding, she and Andrea had managed to staunch the flow to some degree. That's when she'd seen his eyelids flutter, although remain closed, then a quiet groan sounded from him.

"I think he's coming around." Carol announced to the group before turning her attention back to her charge, "Daryl! Daryl! Can you hear me?" It appeared that Daryl was attempting to respond, but the noises that came from him hardly even resembled words. Concerned glances were cast about before all eyes turned back to their fallen member. His skin was beyond ghostly at this point.

"Come on, lets get him in the RV." Motioning for T-dog to help, Shane moved to Daryl's head and hooked his hands under the mans' arms, while T-dog grabbed him at the knees. They looked to each other exchanging a silent 'Ready' and lifted together. Daryl's head lolled to the left against Shane's chest, a moan falling from his colorless lips.

Carol kept in step with the men as they lifted and began moving Daryl to the RV, never releasing the pressure she held against his wound. "Shh, its ok, Daryl." She assured hoping against hope that she wasn't lying. "You're gonna be alright. Don't you worry."

Carefully, they laid him down on one of the beds. "You gonna be ok with him, Carol? You need some help in here?" Shane asked.

"I'll give her a hand." Dale answered for her. He'd followed them inside, and was already setting about getting water ready to clean Daryl's wound with. He also had the sewing kit Carol'd asked for; Sophia must have found it and given it to him.

"Alright then." Was all Shane said before heading back outside, T-dog close behind, to break down camp.

* * *

 

Once Shane got back outside he saw that, in everyone's haste, they'd already made a fair amount of progress. Pleased with this, he went to his own tent to gather his few belongings and break down his mobile dwelling. Just as he was beginning to pull the stakes out of the ground Rick, rather ashen, appeared at one of the tents corners and began tugging at the stake there with his one hand.

"Rick, what are you doing?" Shane asked.

"I'm lending you a hand," was the practical reply.

"Sure ya are," rolling his eyes, Shane nodded over to were Carl and Lori were loading the Grimes' things into Carol's Cherokee along with Carol and Sophia's things, "Why don't you go 'lend them a hand.' Or better yet, why don't you go take a seat. You just had a major shock to your system."

Shooting his friend a withering look Rick bit out, "I'm fine." With a sigh he went on, "We need to talk about what to do with Merle Dixon's body."

"Uhh, we do nothing. We leave it where it is to rot, we head on out of here and find someplace safe." He said it as though this was perfectly obvious, and Rick must be an idiot for not noticing.

To Shane's mind this was ludicrous. Merle had waltzed into their camp and threatened their people's lives and Rick was suggesting they care what happened to his damn body? What the hell?

"We can't just leave it there." Rick's passion on the subject was evident already. Shane was about to protest, but Rick plodded on, "This isn't about Merle. This is about respect for Daryl. He's one of our own and we can't just leave his brother's body this way, no matter what kinda shithead his brother may have been."

At this Shane faltered, looking around the campsite. It was mostly packed up and Glenn and Andrea were both standing to the side watching his and Rick's conversation. Seems they'd overhead. Well shit, he thought, looks as though this was going to turn into a group discussion. He and Rick had finished uprooting his tent, so he began folding it up. Turning to Rick he said, "Well I guess we'll just discuss it with everybody, since we can't ask Daryl what he thinks."

They gathered a few feet from Merle's body, his dead eyes gazing sickeningly at them, a sneer forever pasted on his cold face. The blood from his and Daryl's wounds slowly seeping into the ground around him. Shane found himself staring at the obscene display,  _"Hmm. Blood brothers."_ he thought morbidly, making him want to laugh. To smother the urge, he bent down and yanked his knife from the man's chest; earning him a cringe or two.

He turned to the discussion at hand, Dale was saying how they owed it to Daryl to give Merle a proper burial. God, these people irritated him sometimes, like they had time to bury this man.

"He's gonna want to be present for that though," Andrea put in her two cents.

"Yeah, well I don't see him being able to attend any funerals any time soon." Lori pointed out.

"Lori's right about that, and Andrea and Dale are right too. The way I see it, the only thing  _to_  do is bring Merle's body with us. When Daryl's back on his feet, we'll bury him." Rick looked around the group to gauge their opinions on the matter.

Everyone seemed to think that was a reasonable solution to their problem. They'd shit on Daryl enough in the past, no one wanted to wrong him anymore. A few of them were a little uncomfortable bringing a dead body with them, but after everything they'd been through that wasn't the worst thing they'd dealt with. Besides it was to be considerate of Daryl.

With that decided Glenn and T-dog began wrapping the dead man in a ratty sheet, it was nothing special but they could spare it; then they began lugging him inside the RV to place him on the unoccupied bed.

Carol looked up when they came inside, "What are you doing?"

Before answering they laid Merle on the bed, "It's Merle," Glenn told the woman. Her eyes widened and she shied away a bit at this revelation.

"It's ok," T-dog began explaining. "We thought it'd be best to bury him, but Daryl's gonna wanna be there, so we're gonna bring his body with us and wait till he wakes up."

"Oh, ok." Carol wasn't entirely at ease with this reasoning, but it made sense, so she'd abide it.

"How's he doing?" Glenn asked, concerned.

"Well the bleeding's stopped enough, finally. I'm about to clean the wound then stitch him up, Dale went to sterilize the needle for me. I don't know what's taking..." she stopped when Dale entered the RV.

"Sorry I took so long, I got caught up in the discussion about Merle." He held out the needle, "I did the best I could to clean it. I asked Shane to drive the RV when we leave; I'm going to ride Daryl's motorcycle."

At this news, he found himself staring into three shocked faces. "What?" he asked with a chuckle.

Glenn stared at the aging man, "You know how to ride a motorcycle, Dale?" he was incredulous.

"Well, it has been the better part of 40 years since I've ridden one, but yes, I do."

They stared a moment longer, "Well we better get back outside, Glenn." T-dog stated heading out.

"Yeah," Glenn glanced back at the two beds holding the Dixon brothers before following.

Back outside everyone was nearly finished breaking down camp, "How's he doing?" Rick asked T-dog and Glenn.

The two exchanged a look, "He doesn't look good, Carol says she's about to stitch him."

"She hasn't done that already?" Shane said it as though it was T-dog's fault.

"Hey, I'm just the messenger! She had to stop the bleeding first, damn man, chill." He defended with his arms up in a placating gesture.

Shane wasn't in the mood to be placated. "We can't get a move on while she's trying to stitch his goddamn neck up! We're almost ready to set out!"

"Then we'll be ready when she's done," Rick told him with no room for argument.

The three men were holding a glaring match at this point, Glenn looking on uncomfortably until Andrea's voice pierced the air, "Walkers!"

They looked up to see that walkers were indeed heading toward them, and not just one or two, it was a damn herd of those dead bastards!

Everyone scrambled for their respective vehicles, grabbing what they could of the things still left out on their way, before speeding off.

* * *

 

Carol was holding the needle staring between it and the ghastly wound on Daryl's neck. She was nervous about this; mending someone's clothes and mending their flesh were two different things entirely, let alone when doing it to someone's neck.

Just as she was about to begin she heard Andrea's cry, hitching her breath she looked out the window. There were so many walkers out there! She saw the others scrambling for the vehicles as she sat back down, stunned. In moments, the others designated to ride in the RV were there and they were off. She looked back to Daryl with a silent apology and prayer that he hold on; she couldn't stitch him up while they were moving. As she watched the wounded man, unbeknownst to her, at her back clouded blue eyes were beginning to open.


	7. Chapter 7

Carol stared down at Daryl's face. He was perfectly still, and despite the sallow look to his skin, actually looked rather peaceful; if she didn't know better she'd say the man was just sleeping. But she did know better, if it weren't for the barely discernable rise and fall of his chest she'd think he'd succumbed to his wounds. She wished there was more she could do for him, but until they stopped all she could do was keep pressure on his injury as she'd been for some time now; although the bleeding had slowed to a mere trickle, he couldn't afford to lose anymore blood than he already had. Even if they had the ability to give him a transfusion it's not like they knew his blood type, so that point was moot.

As she kept her silent vigil, behind her danger stirred. Merle's corpse was slowly re-animating and none of the passengers had yet to notice. Possibly their only saving grace was the tattered sheet he'd been wrapped in, slowing his undead movements, and causing the rustling that alerted Carol to turn and look behind her.

Her eyes widened in horror when she did look. Merle, still covered in the sheet, was sitting up on the bed. His head slowly turned in her direction; a sickening growl sounded as he reached for her. Carol let out an ear piercing scream as she stood straight up and took a step back, only to bump into the bed Daryl lay on. She could back up no further and Merle was now blocking her exit. Even if she wanted to leave her friend laying unconscious in the presence of a walker, she had nowhere to go and no weapon to defend herself with. As Merle stood the sheet slipped from his face, thankfully it stayed wrapped about his arms and torso, continuing to hinder his movements. She stared up into his murky blue eyes, letting out a strangled cry as her voice deserted her and fear took its place. This was it, she was going to die. She shut her eyes to the terror she faced, "I love you, Sophia." she whispered goodbye.

* * *

 

Her scream had alerted the others, at first they'd thought something was wrong with Daryl, but when they'd turned to see what was going on in the back they started shouting in horror and scrambling for weapons to help the trapped woman.

"What the hell is going on back there?" Shane screamed as he turned to see for himself. When he saw Merle Dixon snarling and growling, still partially wrapped in a bloody sheet and reaching out for Carol he simply forgot he was driving; just stopped and stared, shocked.

Mistake. In his distraction, the RV began veering to the left, the road they were on was fairly clear of abandoned cars but not entirely. The corner of the RV clipped one and sent them spinning wildly. Shane fought for control of the old Winnebago, but his efforts were in vain. They careened wildly toward the ditch, landing in it and tipping over onto their left side.

When Shane had initially lost control of the vehicle it was a godsend for Carol. As the vehicle lurched, it sent Merle flying towards the back of the small room, slamming into the wall. She would have flown with him if not for desperately latching on to Daryl's bed at the last moment, although she couldn't keep her grip for long. As they continued to spin and slide, all the passengers were thrown about, unable to keep hold of any solid object. Until they finally came to a jarring halt.

* * *

 

Rick stared blankly at the RV in front of him, trying to sort out the events of the past several hours in his dazed mind. The toll of the day was beginning to take effect on him; he was starting to regret being so stubborn and not allowing Lori to drive. The car was silent, everyone lost in their own thoughts; the tension in the air suffocating.

Carl and Sophia sat in back staring out the windows at the desolate scenery. They were in a relatively rural area, with a small population before the world went to shit. The tall grass and green trees surrounding them was littered with abandoned vehicles and burnt out shells of what once must have been lovely homes. Lori was glaring out her own window brooding over her husband's pigheaded insistence that he drive. He was obviously in no condition; she had caught him trying to hide the tremors coursing through him mere minutes after the journey began. Rather than arguing over the subject yet again, she huffed, irritated and turned her attention to the world outside the Cherokee.

Rick knew that it was a stupid idea to drive, but hell, he'd just chopped off his own hand in front of his young son! He wanted to give Carl some reassurance that he'd be alright, at the moment that meant being a man and sucking it up. He knew Lori was beyond pissed about it and one half of him didn't care, he was fed up; but on the flip side, he felt increasingly guilty as the minutes went by. Maybe he should apologize. Rather than use words, he thought a silent gesture would be more effective. He reached over for her hand, making it half way there before leaving his incomplete arm hovering in mid air between them. It was just so natural to reach for her with his hand; that's when it really hit him that it was no longer there. Panic began to rise in him, it was irrational he knew, but he couldn't help it. What was he going to do now? What were his chances to protect his family in this new dangerous world with only one hand? How could he give Carl reassurance when the only ones he had were lies?

His arm had only been left suspended between them for a moment, but Lori had noticed it nonetheless. She turned to her husband and saw the panic and despair, self doubt and uncertainty written on his face. Reaching over, Lori placed her hand on Rick's knee giving a gentle squeeze to get his attention. Her gaze softened and she locked eyes with him. In that moment, they shared a silent communion and everything was said with out words: it spoke of understanding and acceptance, apology and encouragement. Their serene moment was shattered by the piercing crash of metal on metal; they whipped their heads up to the horrifying sight of the RV spinning wildly before slamming into the ditch and toppling to its side.

* * *

 

The moment the RV stilled Glenn pushed himself up, scanning his surroundings with a hurried glance, his practiced eye taking in everything in that brief moment. Shane couldn't be seen from where he sat, T-dog was sprawled near him in an unceremonious heap with Andrea trapped beneath him. She appeared to be in pain and struggling to free herself from the larger man pinning her to the cracked window. Her efforts were hindered by T-dog's blundering attempts to move off of her and they just became more entangled.

Any thought Glenn had to help them out was banished when his visual sweep landed on the small sleeping area of the Winnebago. Merle's body was haltingly shambling to its feet no more than a yard from were Daryl's limp form lay, Carol grasping at the man's ankles before springing to her feet, desperately trying to drag him out of harms way.

Quelling the urge to panic, Glenn quickly surveyed the area once more, this time looking for something,  _anything_ , to take Merle down with. His eyes landed on a shard of glass. It was long and sharp and at the moment, just  _perfect_. Without hesitation, he snatched it up ignoring the slice it sent into his palm, and vaulted to his feet. Cringing at the sudden pain that flared in his right ankle when he put any weight on it and pushing the discomfort to the side, he rushed to his friends' aid and launched himself at Undead Merle.

He stabbed his impromptu weapon directly into Merle's eye; it broke off, but went deep enough to penetrate the brain. Merle's body stumbled backwards before falling for the last time. It'd begun and ended all in an instant; that didn't make it any less terrifying. Taking a few deep breaths to compose himself, he turned to Carol. The woman had watched his heroic display in silence, she continued to stare, as if frozen, until he spoke.

"Are you ok, Carol?" Glenn's voice betrayed him, he was still on edge from the whole ordeal.

She glanced away, instead looking at Daryl, "Yeah, he didn't get ahold of me or Daryl. Thank you Glenn." She returned her misted gaze to the young Asian's, offering him a weak smile.

They looked up to T-dog and Andrea in the little hall area, Andrea cradling her left arm. Shane appeared just behind them, one hand pressed to the left side of his head and a grimace on his face; blood could be seen running down his cheek, peeking from underneath his hand.

"Damn, is everybody alright?" he inquired of the others, looking around. "What's with the arm Andrea?"

"I think it's dislocated," Andrea answered trying to hide her discomfort.

"Well shit. How's Daryl doing there?" he directed to Carol.

"He's bleeding again." was the soft reply.

They were interrupted by Rick's voice, "Shane, what the hell happened? You ok in there?"

"Yeah, Rick, we're ok." He reassured his friend. "We need a way out of here, can you find something to break the windshield with so we don't gotta climb out?"

"Yeah, just hang tight." Rick advised.

While they waited, Shane took action. He began rummaging around the contents of the useless box of metal they were currently trapped in, "Glenn, T-dog, help me gather what we can. Get what looks important for now. The place we're headed isn't too far off from here. We'll come back later to grab the rest."

The other men lost no time heeding his words, they were making short work of the scavenging when Rick's voice sounded once again.

"Ok, stand back!" The order was followed by a loud thud and the sound of glass splintering. He'd found a hammer and was pounding away on the windshield. A few more good strikes and it shattered. He used the hammer to clear the edges of the jagged pieces still protruding dangerously from the frame.

"Hurry!" Rick urged, "I spotted some walkers headed this way, they're far enough they won't be a problem as long as we move quick. It'll be a tight fit, but we'll all pile into the Cherokee."

They didn't need to be told twice. Tossing the bags they'd been filling to Glenn, Shane and T-dog team-lifted Daryl, they tried to be gentle but were much less so than when they'd done this a mere half hour ago. Regardless of their treatment, this time the man remained silent. Carol scurried behind them, but stopped long enough to snatch up her sewing kit from where it'd landed during the chaos. Andrea and Glenn were already to the car by the time the rest of the group reached them.

Rick was giving hasty orders which, for once, no one questioned. "Carl, get in the front and sit on you mother's lap." He looked to the cargo area of the truck; it was too full of supplies to lay an injured man back there. "Carol, Andrea, get in the back. We'll lay Daryl across your legs. Keep him from falling to the floor. Sophia, I'm sorry, but you sit on the end. We'll lay him across you too; it'll just be his legs so it shouldn't be too heavy for you. Shane, Glenn and T-dog find a way to fit back there." He nodded toward the trunk.

Dale sat on the motorcycle watching the others frantically getting situated. He was getting increasingly antsy, ready to move on. The walkers were getting closer, and they were nearly out of time. Shane slammed the back of the vehicle shut just as one of the dead beasts ran into it. Once Dale saw that, he was done waiting. The bike roared to life and he sped off. Rick stomped the gas, fleeing the devil at their backs yet again.


	8. Chapter 8

"What the hell happened back there?" Rick shouted as they hurtled down the road behind Dale. There really was no need to shout but adrenaline had him worked up.

"I don't know man!" Shane yelled back. Apparently he wasn't the only one on an adrenaline rush. "I heard screaming and looked back, and wouldn't you belive it, Merle had fucking come back!"

"What?" His question came out as more of an expletive than an inquiry.

"He was a damn walker, Rick! I didn't think he'd been bitten. He didn't act like it before Daryl put him down, but he turned man. Almost got Carol too. I guess the crash was my fault. I was just so shocked by it all, I... I just stopped watching the road." Shane lowered his head as if ashamed.

A heavy silence ensued for a few minutes before Rick spoke again. "Well is everyone ok? You said he almost got Carol?"

Shane looked up, "Yeah, we're alright, a little banged up from the accident, but ok."

"Glenn saved us." Carol interjected gesturing toward Daryl with a nod. "Merle was going after me, but after the crash, he was going after Daryl. I tried to drag him away, but he's just too heavy for me, then suddenly Glenn was there. He took care of it."

"Good job Glenn," Rick sent the younger man the equivalent of a pat on the back in the form of a look.

"Huh? What?" Glenn looked up from where he'd been distractedly gazing at the cut on his hand. He turned to look up front as best he could from where he was sardined in with Shane and T-dog in the incredibly cramped cargo area. "Did you say something, Rick?"

"I was just thanking you for taking care of Merle."

"Oh yeah. No problem." Glenn replied before turning back to continue his staring contest with his cut. He tuned out the others as they continued to discuss the accident and inform Rick of their injuries. He felt a bit off and couldn't put his finger on the cause. The wound on his palm was burning, which he supposed he'd expect that to some degree, but it just didn't seem right. Maybe he was just in some form of shock. After everything that'd gone down that day; what with Merle attacking camp and making Rick cut off his hand, Daryl getting shot, having to move out yet  _again_ , Merle turning, then the RV crashing. Then on top of all that he'd had to be the one to grant Merle his second death. Surely that was all this was. The chaos of the day was getting to him. It's not like he hadn't killed walkers before, but none of the ones he'd killed had been people he'd known when they were living. And while he didn't care for Merle Dixon he'd still  _known_  the man. He looked at his cut again; it was still bleeding a bit, and surprisingly was hurting more than his twisted ankle. He didn't want to look at it anymore; he didn't like this odd feeling especially not if it was due to the likes of Merle Dixon. So he simply decided he wouldn't allow himself to be in shock. He grabbed at the hem of his thinning undershirt and gave a swift tug, ripping off a sizable strip before wrapping it around his hand. He watched, enthralled as the ugly gash disappeared underneath the fabric.  _"Good riddance."_  He thought to himself.

* * *

 

It had been quiet in the Cherokee for a while now. They'd discussed the incident in the RV as much as they cared to for the time being before a blanket of tense quite settled among them; leaving them all to marinate in their own thoughts of what it could all mean. Thankfully, it wasn't much longer before they pulled into the parking lot of their destination.

The establishment they found themselves at had a fading sign in front proclaiming it as  _Billy Jay's Truck Stop-N-Eats_. The gas station/diner was surprisingly intact. In fact, it looked to be virtually untouched by the decay that seemed to encroach on every corner of the new and terrible world they found themselves inhabitants of. The walls of the building were brown with green trim around the windows and on the awnings. Judging by its appearance from outside the biggest problem was the glass door and the five large windows in the diners half of the building. Detached from the facility were six gas pumps. It was a long shot, but if they were incredibly lucky they might just be able to get some fuel out of those.

Once they pulled into the lot the atmosphere in the car shifted. It remained tense, but now the cause for that was due to caution and fear leeching into everyone's veins. It was always with mixed feelings that they approached a new location, whether it'd been scoped out beforehand or not. One never knew what might happen. Things could change in an instant in this life, hidden dangers waiting behind every corner, just waiting to dig their icy claws into your flesh. Rick suppressed a shudder, not wanting to dwell on such thoughts.

Opening his door but remaining seated Rick waved Dale over. It was approaching dusk, and he was eager to get moving so he wasted no time mincing words once the older man reached them. "Ok. Shane, Glenn and I did a sweep of this place earlier. It was clear, no bodies or walkers. Almost as if it was closed the day things went south. There're blinds on all the windows so that'll keep walkers from seeing the light, and there're bars on the door, so we'll just need to cover it with something to hide the light. We can use the table tops in the diner to board the windows up, but we'll wait till tomorrow. It's getting late, and I don't want to risk the noise this close to nightfall. Now be careful, we'll need to make the rounds in this place again to make sure it's still clear."

With that, he reached down to the lever and popped the trunk, then got out quietly shutting his door. Shane and T-dog moved around to get Daryl off the ladies' laps while everyone else grabbed supplies and weapons and cautiously moved inside.

The sight greeting them once inside was that of a regular gas station, as if placed there from the world before. It looked... normal. Which, honestly, was almost unnerving at this point. They'd become so used to their environment being damaged and pillaged, rotted and torn apart that the fact that this place was intact, the items still miraculously on the shelves, nothing overturned or looted... it was just surreal. And a godsend, Rick reflected, he recalled that the kitchen in the diner was well stocked also, and while they couldn't use the refrigerated items there was still an adequate supply of food; certainly enough to get them by until they could focus on that issue more.

An open partition to their right led to the diner. It consisted of twelve booths and ten barstools, a portion of the kitchen could be seen behind the counter. Lori and Andrea began lowering the blinds while Rick and Glenn went to make sure the rest of their newly claimed fortress remained as safe as they'd left it.

Shane and T-dog laid Daryl down on one the tables before heading out to bring the rest of the supplies in from the car, leaving him in Carol's care so that she could finally tend to him properly. Well, as properly as she could. She was terribly nervous about stitching his neck up, even if she'd volunteered and put herself in this situation. A small part of her couldn't help but be relieved that she'd been interrupted and the procedure put off; which in turn, made her feel disgusted with herself for such a callous thought. She set about cleaning the bloody gash on his neck yet again, with bottled water and the clean part of the rag she'd been using to plug the wound with. The bleeding that'd begun anew because of the accident had slowed a bit during the remainder of the drive there, which gave her a glimmer of hope. She was still worried though. He'd been too still and silent since they'd first put him in the RV and his skin felt too cool to the touch. She knew he was still alive. She couldn't help it and would find herself constantly checking for signs of life, but it still unsettled her to see him in such a state.

"Dale?" she called softly looking up into his kindly old eyes, "Do you think you could sterilize this for me again?" She requested, producing a new needle from her kit.

"Of course," he replied taking the needle, "Is there anything else you think you'll need?"

"Some water and clean cloths," Dale nodded and turned to leave. "Oh, and some bandages if you can find any," Carol added as an afterthought. "But could you get the other things first, so I can get started, please?"

"Will do," Dale sent her an encouraging smile, trying to reassure her that she could do this.

As she waited on Dale, Sophia approached her. "Mom, is Daryl going to die?" the question was uttered with such innocence, even after all the girl had seen in her short life. It tore at Carol's heart.

Carol didn't rightly know what to say, "We're going to do everything we can to keep that from happening, Sweetie." she answered. She had no idea if Daryl'd pull through or not and there was no sense in telling Sophia otherwise.

The girl looked at her with something between sadness and understanding, her gaze then shifted to one of resolution. "I'll help you, Mom."

Carol smiled at her daughter; the girl was so fragile, yet possessed such a strength. She supposed she must, to have survived in this nightmare for so long. Upon realizing this, she could only conclude the same of herself. This realization empowered her, cementing her resolve and quelling her fears and uncertainties about her ability to pull this off. Sophia believed in her and Daryl, whether he knew it or not, was depending on her. She could do this. She would do this.

* * *

 

"Alright, it's still clear and the back exit's locked up tight." Rick announced to the others as he and Glenn returned to the dining area. The others were all gathered there now explaining to Dale what'd happened in the RV earlier. They'd seated themselves at a couple of the tables near where Carol was conducting her 'surgery'. The Cherokee had been cleaned out and the front door secured and covered with a tarp. There were a few candles lit about the room for light and Sophia held a flashlight, so Carol could see to stitch Daryl.

"I guess we can sleep in here tonight, maybe tomorrow we can start moving things in the gas station around and spread out a bit. Oh, and did I mention that this place has showers?" he grinned slyly at them all.

"Really?" T-dog asked, excited.

"Yeah, this hallway branches off before you hit the kitchen. There are bathrooms and then a little further are some showers. The beauty of truck stops." He chuckled. "I don't know if they work, though. We'll have to see if we can get the generator in the basement working tomorrow."

"Wow," Andrea remarked rubbing her shoulder. Shane had popped it back into place for her earlier, but it still ached. "This place, might just work out pretty well."

"Well I hope so," Shane stated standing up. "Let's find something to eat, we've actually got a couple options in this place."

After eating a hearty meal of granola bars, jerky, and a random assortment of other snacks, they were now sitting around in the glow of the candles discussing things they could do to fortify and improve their new home. There was a lull in conversation, that's when the subject came up.

"I have to ask," Dale started, looking around the group, "but how is it that Merle came back? I didn't see a bite on him, and he certainly wasn't behaving as such." The others all murmured agreement, no one would have guessed the man, while insane as could be, was infected.

There was a pregnant silence as they contemplated the implications of this. Fear began to permeate their surroundings seeping into their very pores, until Rick finally shattered the quiet, voicing what everyone was thinking and no one wanted to say. "I don't think he was bitten. I don't think you have to get bit to turn, you just have to die. Getting bit just kills you faster."

They all just stared at each other in horror. If this was true, they were all doomed. It didn't matter what they did, each of them would turn into one of those walking abominations. It was only a matter of when. There would be no peace in death, no matter the form it took.

"Well," Shane's voice rang out dryly as he settled down on the pallet he'd made for himself, closing his eyes, "thanks for the bedtime story."


	9. Chapter 9

The blackness enveloped him like an endless void, an ocean of sticky tar he was trapped in, sabotaging his efforts to break free from it. Everything was muffled, muted, grayed; completely devoid of clarity, sharpness, or focus. Vaguely he could make out bits of his surroundings. He could feel something hard beneath him, and a heavy covering of some kind keeping his body firmly locked in place to that hardness. Slowly the darkness began to recede, and light began to trickle through; as much as he'd struggled to free himself of the all-consuming blackness, the light wasn't welcome either. It felt as though it were burning his retinas with its harshness. He felt pain. There was tremendous pain all throughout his body, pumping through his veins to distribute itself thoroughly and concentrating most intensely in his neck and head. Then there were the noises, distant yet close enough to be coming from within his own head, loud yet barely even audible. It was a chaotic cacophony of which he'd much rather have no part, especially since it was magnifying his splitting headache.

The information he was so clumsily taking in was blurred, distorted, running together like an eggs' broken yolk mingling with the uncooked white, but not mixing to make something of substance to which he could form something discernable from, come to any conclusion as to what it all meant. He was just floundering in confusion, like a fish flopping on the bank, desperately trying to make its way back into the life giving oxygenation of the pond.

Maybe if he could just focus on one thing, he could tether himself to it and pull himself from this pit he was sinking in. Trying to weed through his disorientation, he focused on the most overwhelming of the sensations, something he could relate to well. The pain. This, perhaps, wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. He'd thought the pain had been bad before. The misery flooded through him, bringing with it a nausea that almost overwhelmed him; the throbbing in his head escalated, drowning out all other noises with a dull buzzing. He could feel hands pressing on his chest now; why did they have to press so hard? He wasn't going anywhere. He'd nearly pulled entirely from the oppressive darkness he was captured in and was absolutely exhausted by it. The hands were moving frenetically over him, more than one set he thought, although he really couldn't be sure of that. There was a hand slapping his cheek now. Who the hell was hitting him? He'd worked this hard to escape one hell, only to find himself in this new one; at the mercy of others, tied down and weary.

Finally, his eyes fluttered open and once they slowly adjusted to the brightness he became more aware of the reality of his situation. The hardness beneath him was a table, and what he'd previously thought were bonds strapping him to it was in actuality a light sheet draped over him. The abusive hands belonged to Andrea and Carol who, in fact, were being as gentle as ever. Their faces hovered above his, mouths moving, eyes concerned. As the buzzing in his head began to fade, he could make out the words.

"...you feeling?" , this from Carol.

Simultaneous with Andrea's, "... us a big scare there, Daryl."

Dazedly he stared at them. What had happened to him? He couldn't seem to remember. He felt weak and battered, but the reason for this currently escaped him. "Happened?" he asked in little more than a whisper.

Rather than answering, Andrea asked a question of her own, "You don't remember?" At his bewildered expression, she exchanged a glance with Carol, "Merle. He..." she began but was cut off.

"I remember now." Daryl's voice floated weakly up to them. At the mention of his brother's name, it all came flooding back to him. "Is he? Did I?" He couldn't finish the question, but the women knew what he was asking.

They were silent for several moments, exchanging another strange look between each other before Carol finally replied, "He's dead, Daryl."

He wasn't really surprised at her answer, even as he was completely shocked by it. He'd been determined, and nothing stood between him and his goals once he set his mind to it. But this was Merle. Nothing could kill Merle, but Merle. Seems that wasn't as true as he'd thought. He wasn't even sure how he'd done it. He could recall brawling with his brother next to the fire pit, but that's where the memory ended.

Andrea began to prop him up slightly while Carol held a cup and straw to his lips. He sipped at it slowly, the liquid soothing his parched throat. He wondered what the looks the two women kept exchanging meant, but was too tired to focus on that just yet; he'd deal with that later. Andrea gently laid him back down as his eyes began to close of their own accord.

"Get some rest," Carol's voice wafted over him as he drifted off, "we'll check on you again in a bit."

* * *

Carol breathed a sigh of relief. Daryl had woken up. She hadn't killed him with her pathetic excuse for administering stitches. She had just finished changing his bandages with Andrea's assistance when he'd begun to stir. First it was just a twitch of his hand, then his eyelids fluttered. They began to try to rouse him, patting his cheeks gently and lightly planting palms on his chest to keep him from overturning however unlikely, judging by the weakness of his movements. When his eyes finally opened, she could have jumped for joy. It'd only been just over a day, but after the amount of blood he'd lost, she'd begun to fear his sleep would be eternal. He didn't stay awake long, but that hardly mattered; he'd awoke!

Once he'd fallen back to sleep, she gave him one last look before gathering the bloodied bandages to throw out and the first aid supplies to put away. Andrea'd already wandered back over to Shane and T-Dog to help them board up the windows with the tables. They now only had two tables left, but that was fine; it opened up a lot of space, and they had the bar to sit at anyhow. Lori was sitting at the only other remaining table with the kids, overseeing their homework.

She decided to go tell Rick the good news. She found him in the gas station portion of the building with Glenn and Dale. "I see you've been busy in here." She informed the men.

"Oh yea, we just thought we'd rearrange this stuff, maybe set up a couple of the tents in here or something. Have an indoor campground." Rick gestured to the cleared space they'd created. Although a much tighter squeeze than before, there was still a clear path to the items on the shelves, a couple were even behind the counter now and the space it opened up was enough for two, maybe even three tents.

"That'll be real nice, Rick." Carol was liking this place more than she'd expected to. It was, of course, at tighter squeeze than being outside, but it certainly offered much more protection, and putting tents up would provide a bit of privacy. However, the best part so far was that earlier on that morning Rick and Shane had gotten the generator working and found that they did indeed have hot and running water. "I wanted to tell you, Daryl woke up."

Rick brightened, "Really? Is he still awake?"

"No, he wasn't awake long, just a minute or two, but that's a good sign." She said tentatively, more like a question than a statement.

"Well I'd say it is," Rick smiled.

"I was wondering, what should we tell him about Merle? He already knows he's dead. He asked, so Andrea and I had to tell him, but we were bringing Merle's body with us to bury. What do we tell Daryl now?"

"The truth, I guess." Dale said calmly, "I'm sure it won't be pleasant to hear, but we can't lie to him about it."

Carol balked a bit at the idea that she'd want to lie to Daryl about this. "Well, of course I don't want to lie to him about it. I guess I'm more asking how we tell him, and when?"

Rick stepped in to lay down the law as he so often did, "I don't want to tell him Merle came back just yet; we'll wait till he's a bit stronger. And if Daryl wants, we'll go back and get Merle's body and bury him like we'd planned."

Carol nodded and headed back to the other room to help Sophia with her schooling.

"Glenn, are you alright?" Dale asked, "You're looking a bit pale there."

Quickly averting his gaze from where he'd been picking at the bandage around his palm, Glenn's response was a bit flustered. "Yea, I'm fine, Dale." Looking between the two older men, he could see they weren't buying it. "I guess I'm just a little nervous or something. I mean, Daryl may have killed him, but I'm the one who put Merle down for good. And I know I did what I had to, and Daryl basically condoned it by killing Merle himself, but at the same time it's like, Daryl never gave me permission to dispatch his brother."

The look Rick was giving him was somewhere between amused and surprised. "You think Daryl's going to be mad at you?"

"Yea, I guess." Glenn nodded, looking down at his feet.

Unable to contain a small chuckle, Rick clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Glenn, I don't think you have anything to worry about. If you had done nothing, then I think Daryl would have been mad at you. Remember, 'Zero tolerance for walkers.' He said so himself."

"You're probably right." Glenn agreed, offering a small smile before turning his attention back to moving shelves, not wanting to continue the discussion. The truth was he didn't know what was bothering him. He felt like he might be coming down with something. It'd begun with a headache the night before, one which he'd hoped to be rid of upon awakening in the morning. That was certainly not the case. In fact, the headache was much worse today, and the throbbing in his ankle was intensifying along with the burning ache coming from the slice in his palm. And now that he thought about it, he felt positively awful in comparison to this morning, the aches now seeping into his bones as well and a nauseated sensation churning in the pit of his stomach. He'd wanted to hide his illness from the others, they had enough to contend with right now, he didn't want to add to the burdens. Although, at this point, he was beginning to wonder how much longer he could keep hiding his discomfort. Dale had already mentioned his pallor, how long did he honestly think he could hide this? What was even wrong with him? This felt like no sickness that he'd ever come down with before. He decided just to ignore it for now, hoping it was just a fluke, and he'd start feeling better soon, but deep down he knew this wouldn't be going away.

* * *

A couple hours later the group had gathered in the diner to eat lunch. Glenn was feeling worse than ever now, and only picking at his food.

"Don't you like it, Glenn?" Lori asked, casting a searching gaze.

"It's fine," he replied listlessly, "I'm just not very hungry."

"You don't look well." Carol pointed out. "Are you sick?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached out placing a hand on his forehead. "Glenn, you're burning up!" She exclaimed.

"Yeah, I guess." Glenn consented. No point trying to hide it now, they were gonna find out anyway.

"What's wrong with you, Glenn?" Shane asked, suspicion leaking into his voice. "Were you bit?"

"No, I wasn't bit. I'm just coming down with something; it started last night." Glenn defended himself. "I just didn't want to say anything, add more burdens to everyone right now."

"Glenn, you can't ignore these things anymore." Andrea chided, jumping on the bandwagon. "We don't have doctors around anymore. When you get sick you don't need to be pushing yourself."

"Yeah, you're right. Sorry. Look, I think I'm just gonna lay down." Glenn removed himself from further chastisement and scrutiny. He moved over to his pallet from last night and lay down, burrowing under the covers searching for the warmth that'd been eluding him all day.

The others looked to each other after Glenn's departure then resumed their meal and quiet conversation, resolving to just let the man rest for now. Carol stood after a few minutes, "I'm going to check on Daryl."

She walked to the table the wounded man inhabited, taking note of his still pale skin and the dark rings circling his eyes. She checked the bandages on his wrists covering the deep lacerations the ropes had caused. He'd be lucky if they didn't scar. Once finished she checked the bullet wound. When she pulled the gauze back, his eyes slowly opened.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey yourself." Carol smiled down at him. Seeing that Daryl was awake, Rick and Dale made their way over.

"Good to see you awake." Rick told the other man.

"Thanks. Where's my crossbow?" Daryl asked.

"Oh, well you didn't have it on you when Merle led you into camp." Dale broke the news gently. "I can only assume it's somewhere in the woods still."

"Shit. That's right. He made me drop it and my knife. I gotta go back for 'em." Daryl made to get up.

Quickly pushing him down Rick halted whatever little progress he'd made to sit upright. "Whoa, there! I don't think you're ready for that just yet. When you're back on your feet I'll go with you to get your things, but right now you're too weak. You nearly died on us, Daryl."

"Well damn, at least let me sit up!" After being helped to slide off the table, and seated at the booth, he was quite winded. "What happened to me anyway?" he panted slightly.

"Merle shot you. The bullet grazed your neck, and you lost a lot of blood. We weren't sure you'd make it for awhile there." Rick told him.

"Damn." was all Daryl replied with. They sat there in silence for a minute until the quiet was interrupted by Glenn's harsh coughing. "What's wrong with him?"

Carol looked over at the young Asian, he was huddled up on his side with his back to them. "He's sick."

"Sick? Like bit sick, or sick sick?" Daryl asked.

"Sick sick." she answered. Just then Shane and Andrea walked over.

"I think we've got a problem." Shane stated grimly. "He's coughing up blood over there, and he's delusional."

Rick nodded, "Ok, I agree that's not good, but you're leading me to believe there's more to this."

"Thing is," Shane looked Rick in the eye, "he's acting an awful lot like Jim did."


	10. Chapter 10

"What are you talking about, Shane?" Rick had a hint of exasperation in his voice. "People are still going to get sick. The world ending didn't change that, besides he didn't get bit."

Shane remained unconvinced, "I know all that, Rick, but I'm telling you, he ain't acting right! He's over there with a raging fever and talking nonsense. The man's delusional!"

"Fevers do that, Shane!" Andrea informed him. "Jesus, haven't you ever had a fever? Instead of making ridiculous claims, why don't you go see if you can find some Tylenol or something?"

The effort Shane took to keep his voice down was clearly evident. "Ridiculous! Look, maybe I am wrong, but maybe I ain't! And I'll tell ya, I don't want to be right, but just 'cause I don't want it doesn't mean it shouldn't be looked into. Sweeping shit under the rug is what gets people killed!"

Rick put his stump on Shane's chest in a calming gesture, "Settle down, man. All we're saying is there's no need to jump to conclusions. Of course we'll keep an eye on him, I need to go check on him anyway." As he headed over to the sick man, he tossed over his shoulder, "Maybe you could go find some medicine for him, if his fever's that high, we need to bring it down." Wordlessly, Shane made his way into the gas station to do just that.

Andrea stood from the table. "I'm going to check on Glenn, too. I'm glad you're ok, Daryl."

"Yeah." Daryl quietly answered her retreating back. He wouldn't really call how he was feeling 'ok' . Actually he felt like a great, big, steaming pile of shit. Not that he'd own up to it of course; and he was sure he'd  _be_  ok, but at the moment he was weak and nauseous, dizzy with a splitting headache, and tired, so tired. He could go to sleep right were he sat, the padding of the booth was much more comfortable than it had any right to be. He let himself relax into it a little more, about to close his eyes, when he realized Carol was watching him.

"Ain't you gonna go check on Glenn?" he asked.

Carol looked a little sheepish, "Well, actually, I still need to put a new bandage on your wound," she held up a fresh piece of white gauze. "I guess I got distracted, sorry."

"S'alright." Not like he would have noticed anyway.

Carol inspected the rough stitch work before taping the fresh bandage onto his neck. "It seems to be doing alright, but you're probably going to have a nasty scar. Sorry."

To avoid turning his head, Daryl rolled his gaze over to her, a questioning look on his face. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

Carol refused to meet his eyes, opting instead to look down at the table. "Well, I had to stitch you up. It's not very pretty."

"You did?" Daryl asked surprised.

Thinking he was upset, Carol began to quickly explain. "The bleeding wouldn't stop, you needed stitches. Shane asked if anybody could sew..."

Rather than let her continue, Daryl cut her off. "It don't matter if it ain't pretty." He shut his eyes again, nearly nodding off the moment lid met lid. "Thanks." He barely registered Carol saying 'your welcome' before he dropped off.

* * *

Glenn felt miserable. Was it only this morning that it was just a general feeling of malaise? Now he felt like he was dying. The temperature of the room seemed to be oscillating between desert and arctic climates every five minutes, his head pounding so hard he wouldn't be surprised if he ended up with a hairline fracture in his skull, and he was seriously regretting the two bites of lunch he'd so foolishly taken; every cough threatened send that, and everything he'd ever eaten in his life before it, spewing forth.

As it was, every cough was producing varying amounts of blood, a prospect which alarmed him greatly. And he couldn't seem to stop coughing for more than a few minutes. By now his concentration was next to nothing; the moments he wasn't consumed by the haze of fever growing rare, but not impeding his ability to contemplate (or more accurately, agonize) over his condition during the times of lucidity. What in the hell was wrong with him? How was it that he was suddenly this sick?

Just as he was on the verge of a panic attack, his imagination running wild, Rick appeared with Andrea.

"Hey, Glenn." Rick greeted, kneeling down next to the ill man. "I hear you're not doing so well." Glenn just stared in silence, a shivering mass huddled deep in an ugly, olive green blanket; he didn't feel up to expending the energy to confirm the obvious.

"Can you tell me what your symptoms are?" Rick asked.

_Not really._  Glenn thought dismally. He was becoming short of breath and didn't really want to waste it talking, but he opened his mouth to answer anyway. "I have a..." he was cut of by an especially violent coughing fit, more blood than ever coming up this time. Choking, yet still coughing, and trying vainly to catch his breath he clumsily rolled to his side hoping gravity would help him out.

"Sit him up! Sit him up!" Andrea's frantic voice pierced through the fog of his mind. Hands were suddenly grabbing and pulling him, the movements causing explosions of agony across his body, and for naught too; the pain just increased due to the others panicked movements to help him, and the relief of taking a deep breath continued to elude him. He could hear his name being called as if from a great distance, but had no strength to answer. Darkness was closing in, oppressive and demanding, and swallowing him whole.

Rick and Andrea watched in horror as Glenn's eyes rolled back in his head, his eyes slipping shut, the gasping breaths ceased and his body went unnaturally still. Aside from his chin, which was covered in blood and dripping all across his shirt front, his face was morbidly pale.

Rick stared in shock, this wasn't happening. It couldn't be. He was terrified to check, but had to. Slowly, and doing a sad job of concealing a slight tremble, he reached out with his left hand pressing his fingers against the pulse point of Glenn's neck. Nothing. No pulse. He was dead.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so sorry it took me so long to get the last chapter uploaded! What with Christmas and all, I haven't had the chance to get online in days. Anyway, the wait is over, hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :)

"Is he dead?" Andrea asked needlessly, the stricken look on Rick's face said it all. The only answer she got was Shane happening upon the scene, a bottle of Tylenol and what appeared to be cough medicine in his hands, both of which he nearly dropped along with some curses.

"What the hell happened?" T-dog asked, addressing no one in particular. "He didn't get bit. What was wrong with him, why would he just die like that?"

"I don't know." Rick leaned forward and began to inspect Glenn's body. He really didn't know what he was looking for. A bite? But he knew Glenn hadn't been bit. A cut, a scratch, a rash? Anything that could explain what had happened.

"Wait." Everyone turned to look at Carol. She fidgeted under the collective gaze of the entire group shifting her eyes to Daryl as if for help under this new scrutiny, who having been woken by all the commotion, was just staring at her along with everyone else. "Shouldn't we do something? I mean, won't he wake up?" The encounter with Merle Dixon's reanimated corpse was still fresh in her mind, and she had no wish to go through that ordeal again with Glenn.

"Nah, Carol. I'm sure it's fine," reassured Shane. " Merle must'a been bit, we just didn't know it."

"What?" Daryl's face betrayed no emotion, but something that no one but Carol was close enough to see flickered across his eyes for an instant. "Carol, what the hell's he talking about?"

Again Carol began to fidget uncomfortably, they were going to wait to tell Daryl about this, but it seemed the cat was out of the bag. She looked down at her hands twisting nervously together on the table top. "Well, we thought you'd want to bury Merle. So we brought him with us on the trip here. We put you in the RV, and we put him in there too." She stopped here to look up at him.

Daryl was staring at her, dumbfounded. A million things were running through his mind. He really didn't know what to think about it. They brought Merle with them? Well, he guessed that was pretty considerate of them. Kind of creepy and unexpected, but considerate. And he found that he was actually touched by the act, which was obviously out of respect for him. Wow. Talk about coming out of left field. He totally hadn't expected that.

But there was more to it. Everyone was watching him nervously, and Shane had said that Merle had been bit. But he wasn't bit. Daryl would have noticed that in the woods when he first ran into him. Daryl looked at Shane, "He wasn't bit. Are you saying he turned walker? Because he had _no_ bites."

"Well he must of. He turned in the RV. Almost got you and Carol, too." Shane glanced at the short-haired woman apologetically before continuing. "I was driving, when I saw what was happening I lost control of the vehicle, and we crashed. Glenn's the one that put Merle down for good."

"He was worried you'd be mad at him for that," Rick chimed in, "not getting permission to kill your brother and all."

Daryl could feel his headache intensifying at this overload of information. He glanced longingly at the bottle of Tylenol Shane was still holding, but had no mind to actually ask for the damn thing, so he looked away. "This all just... He came back? And why the hell would I be mad? Fucking stupid to think that! I can't believe ya'll even brought Merle, and for me?" Daryl sounded incredulous, like he blamed himself for the accident due to his inadvertent role in it all. "Well surely you left him to rot after that?"

"We actually had to. The RV turned over on it's side," Andrea rubbed her still sore shoulder at the memory, "we had to cram into the Cherokee with walkers on our tail. We barely made it out in time."

Daryl drew a hand down his face. He couldn't believe this shit. He really wasn't upset about not getting to bury Merle, after what'd gone down between them, it was a fitting end. But what disconcerted him was the danger the group had been put into because of him. "Ya'll shouldn'ta brought him."

Shane looked outraged, "Hey man, we did that for you! Least you could do is be grateful!"

"Never said I wasn't!" He snapped right back. "Don't mean it didn't endanger the group though. Now, does it?"

Any further conversation was cutoff by a fearful screech, "Mommy!" Sophia hurled herself into Carol's arms. "I saw Glenn move!"

They turned to see Glenn staggering to his feet. The once friendly face and inviting eyes now twisted into some gruesome nightmare, mouth snarling and snapping viciously under that cold, clouded gaze. Anguished cries at seeing one of their own in such a state clashed with the inhuman moans coming from Glenn. Steeling himself to what must be done, Rick took out his knife and plunged it into Glenn's head.

"I thought you said he hadn't been bit!" Shane shouted at Carol.

"He wasn't!" She cried back, hugging her daughter even tighter. Trying to shield her poor girl from the horrors of this world, whether they be undead nightmares or living scary men.

"Then why did he turn?" Shane was still yelling. Carl and Sophia were crying. Lori and Andrea were sniffing and Carol was holding back tears. The men were staring numbly in shock. The group was not processing this turn of events well.

Rick was still crouched over Glenn where he'd laid the body gently down rather than just letting it fall like a sack of potatoes as he normally did. He'd been staring at Glenn's body intently, willing it to give him the missing piece to the puzzle. His eyes came to rest on the bandaged hand. He unwrapped the gauze, letting out a gasp when he saw what was underneath.

"Look at this!" Rick indicated the deep cut. It was badly infected and showed clear signs of necrosis.

"Oh my god!" Carol sobbed out. "It was when he took down Merle. He used a piece of glass. He must have cut himself and gotten blood in it."

At that, no one knew what to say.

* * *

 

Daryl stood in the woods, eyes closed, the sounds of the forest flitting about on the gentle breeze. Peaceful. This place was peaceful. No, not this place, this moment. This place was tainted. The whisper of a smile found it's way to his lips for an instant. It was ironic he could find serenity here at all. This was were things had changed. Where _he_ had changed. The place Merle had found him.

He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. The familiar weight of his crossbow, _finally_ , about his shoulders once again; his knife secured at his waist. It was good to have his weapons back. He'd finally gotten Rick to agree that he was well enough to go back for his things; it'd been a couple weeks now since Merle'd blown back into their lives and forever changed them all, _again._ It seemed like their lives were changing forever a hell of a lot anymore. Daryl let out a heavy-hearted sigh. He supposed that was to be expected, being the end of the world and all.

"Any luck?" Rick's voice called out, just before he came into view.

"Right here." Daryl shrugged his shoulder to indicate the crossbow perched atop it. Once they'd made it to the general area where he'd lost his equipment, he'd told Rick they should split up to find his things. There was really no need, but he'd wanted a minute to himself. It was his way of getting closure from the loss of his brother. Not the brother who'd come to camp that day, but the brother who'd been there to protect him when his dad was beating him to death, the one that'd taught him to drive, the one that'd taught him to hunt.

"You about ready?" Rick asked.

"Yeah, let's get on back." Daryl was fairly certain that Rick knew splitting up was a ruse, but if he did, he made no indication and just played along knowing time alone was what Daryl needed. No matter though. He'd come to accept it; he had a place among this rag-tag band of survivors. And taking one last look at the foliage around them before turning to go, realized that he was ok with that.


End file.
